


Derangement

by Aurënfaie (Aurenfaie)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Mage Fenris (Dragon Age), Mental Instability, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurenfaie/pseuds/Aur%C3%ABnfaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was clear that for decades, an essential facet of Fenris’ being had been entirely overlooked and stifled until it warped into whatever it was now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derangement

**Author's Note:**

> So I was thinking about [arcanist derangement](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Hedge_magic) and the possibility that Fenris could be a mage. I was supposed to be working on Traverse, but I was so burnt out that I needed a warm up...and here we are! Burn outs and idle musings! Typical DA2 setting.
> 
> I've tagged it Fenders, but it's really sort of...only if you squint?

No one was entirely certain what happened.

Hawke and Anders were back to back fighting off slavers a warehouse down by the docks. They were sharing each others barriers supporting Fenris and Isabela as they ducked between blades and arrows. Their close combat companions cut through slavers, apparently delighted to rid the world of a few more scumbags.

It was, on the whole, a fairly regular Tuesday.

Though the slavers had no mages in their company, they were giving Hawke and his friends trouble. Isabela was only standing with Hawke’s help as he washed barrier after barrier over her while Anders did his best to heal her wounds on the fly while forcing back anyone who thought the mages were sitting ducks. Fenris had taken a few more hits than usual, one sending him back so hard he had to drag his palm and sword through the ground to keep him from hitting the wall.

Anders gathered his mana to send healing magic into the elf, damn whatever he thought about magic.

Just then, the upper windows of the warehouse suddenly burst inwards and showered all of its occupants with silver shards of glass. Time seemed to stand still then, though a deep boom shook the warehouse and everyone in it.

For a moment, Anders thought it was Hawke doing this. As an apostate, Hawke did not have the control Anders took for granted in his Circle training. The man was almost notorious for friendly fire in the heat of battle, though not out of any ill will for his company. He simply had poor aim and an excitable demeanor.

Yet as Anders turned with a shout of “Hawke, what did you do?” it became abundantly clear that this was not Hawke’s doing. Hawke was not capable of something like this.

The feeling of time standing still was more than an illusion. Broken glass hung in the air, along with the blood of those it sliced through. The room seemed to boom again and the glass vibrated with quiet chimes.

A few yards away, Isabela stood with her blades still raised, eyes wide and lips hanging open. Blood smeared across her face and her skin had been sliced in a few places by glass.

Beyond her were the remains of what Anders assumed to have once been slavers, so wrecked that they were beyond recognizable. A massive sword lay lamely nearby, flat on its side and useless. Fenris was not far behind them, curled forward on his hands and knees with brands so bright they lit a good half of the open room. His entire body heaved with every breath. His face was hidden under his white hair, head bent forward so far it was nearly touching the ground. Even from a distance, Anders could hear the rasp of his breath. Every exhale was met with wobbling whine.

No one moved, not even the remaining slavers.

Then Fenris shuddered and started to pull himself to his feet. His head remained bowed as he pushed himself away from the wall. As if struck by lightning, Isabela jerked to life and clambered backwards. Whatever she had seen, it was enough to strike fear into a few of the slavers close to her. They all backed away from the elf and the remains before him, paying little mind to the glass cutting slivers through their flesh.

She slowed after ducking behind Hawke and Anders, panting and pale faced. “That…I can’t begin to…” Isabela rubbed at her face with her bare arm. “Fenris, I think Fenris—”

Another low noise reverberated through the room, and the glass dropped.

The slavers seemed to take this as a sign that whatever had mashed their comrades into a bloody pulp on the ground was over. One lifted her bow and fitted an arrow in it. Anders watched in horror as she drew and scrambled to stop her. With a quick flick of his arm, he sent a wall of ice flying at her. The arrow loosed and she fell to the floor, quickly overcome with frost growing over her body.

The arrow struck Fenris hard in the side. He slammed back into the wall with a shout, clutching at the wound. For a split second, his brands flickered, but burst back to life brighter than before.

“Fenris!” Hawke bellowed and pushed Anders aside to race to the warrior’s side. The glass and bodies went unnoticed, as did the deep noise quaking around him.

Before he could reach the elf’s side, Fenris slumped forward and slammed his free fist into the ground. Beneath it, the earth split like cracks in a broken plate.

Hawke tumbled to the side to avoid the floor falling out from beneath him. Behind him, Anders fell and braced himself on hands and knees on the ground. The world around them shook. At once, Anders became away of blood pulsing so loudly in his ears that he could hardly think. The others seemed equally afflicted as the slavers and Isabela alike stumbled toward the doorway, apparently having more sense than Anders or Hawke.

Across the room, Fenris’ head tipped back and his eyes opened to reveal pupils so blown there was no green left. His lips moved absently, a whisper of words in their wake, though they were all slurred nonsense too quiet to make sense to anyone.

With one look, Anders could tell Fenris had no idea where he was or who was around him. Soon enough, he too struggled to recognize his one environment. This was no entropy spell he’d ever experienced, but that was the best way to describe it. He felt terrified and disoriented all at once. The room swayed beneath his feet. His skin itched and he felt an urge to tear it away. Anders had experienced enough of these spells to recognize the signs of magic being used on him, but even this felt somehow different. It felt corrupted, like the work a demon rather than a mage. 

“Hawke, don’t get close to him!” Anders could also tell that something was terribly wrong with Fenris, and likely had been long before today. “He’s deranged!” And for once it was no dig at Fenris’ personality and perceived lack of sanity. It was clear that for decades, an essential facet of Fenris’ being had been entirely overlooked and stifled until it warped into whatever it was now.

Fenris was a “hedge mage,” an individual with archanist derangement, and had been all along. It was likely the reason that he even survived having lyrium branded into his skin. Of course there was no way for Fenris to know this, not when his memories were wiped away and left him with and entirely unique set of tattoos with a unique set of abilities. Who knew where the brands stopped and his own magic began?

Now though, now it was entirely clear what Fenris was capable of. His magic had flowed around the dam and burst out in a way that even Anders could not immediately identify as magic.

“He’s hurt!” Hawke called back, staggering toward the muttering elf. “He needs—”

But he was given no chance to finish his words. Fenris, blind to the world and addressing some beings beyond their human sight, lashed out at the unknown figure approaching him. Hawke was struck by his corrupted magic and hurled backwards. The blow give a sickening crack in his ribs and he crumpled into the ground with an agonized moan.

Anders swore and raced to Hawke’s side. Fenris’ magic did not follow the traditional paths taught in the circle, or even among the Dalish. Anders had no way of know what exactly he’d hit Hawke with, or what damage it might cause. He cradled Hawke’s head in his lap and ran his hands over the man’s torso. Broken ribs were no surprise, but even with the minimal magic he used to check the man over, he could feel intense internal trauma. It was as though the man had been hit by a dragon’s tail, though neither had seen anything in the air.

As he attempted to undo the damage done, Anders turned his attention from Fenris. This proved to be a mistake. Though he only took his eyes off the elf for a few seconds, he could feel hot breath against his air. The sound of half formed words, too muddled to mean much of anything at all, made his heart stop. Anders shifted his gaze away from Hawke just slightly and was met with Fenris’ body and the arrow still protruding from it.

“Fenris,” Anders murmured, stock still and pale. Fenris’ speed was by no means a new discovery. It had been attributed to the lyrium brands, still glowing brightly in the dim warehouse, but Anders was starting to think it was something else entirely. “Fenris, please.”

He was begging and he knew it. Whatever Fenris saw now was not what Anders saw. As much as Anders disliked the elf, he knew Fenris harbored strong feelings for Hawke. He would never do anything to hurt the man. Anders could only hope that somehow his voice would reach through the haze of Fenris’ mind and bring him back. If it did not, he may have sealed their fates at the hands of an elf who no more knew his face from that of a demon.

Fenris did not move, but instead continued his mumbling. Anders thought he heard “iustitia,” a word he knew to mean “justice” in Fenris’ native tongue, somewhere in the mess.

“Fenris,” Anders tried again, this time turning slightly so that he could face him. To his surprise, Fenris shifted his gaze and looked straight toward him—or through him, Anders decided. Whatever he saw was beyond Anders’ skin. He also seemed to not have noticed he’d been shot through with a slaver arrow.

Hawke, for all his pain and fear, kept still and watched the exchange in silence. He dared not break the uneasy peace between Fenris and Anders. Another bass thrum rattled the warehouse. Hawke clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever agony was sure to follow if Fenris became unsettled so close to them.

Anders swallowed and took a deep breath. He had no assurances Fenris wouldn’t strike out at him the way he had at Hawke, and at this distance Anders would surely be cleaved in two. He lifted a trembling hand, as though he were attempting to calm a wild beast. Indeed Fenris was very much a wild animal in this state. His eyes were wide and unsettled, all black and white with no color in-between. The murmuring slowed to silence, leaving Anders with nothing to focus on but the elf’s dead gaze.

A timid, pale hand lifted to brush against Fenris’ jaw. When Anders was not immediately disemboweled, he grew bolder and let his fingers trail up along his cheek bone.

“Fenris,” he breathed and curled his hand around Fenris’ nape. “Listen to me. You are safe. There is no one here to hurt you.” Anders swallowed and pulled him forward so that their foreheads could touch. He did his best to present himself as calm and submissive, though his heart was set to burst through his chest in the terror he felt. “Fenris, please.”

Dark eyes shifted, pupils contracted. For a moment, Fenris seemed to actually see him.

“An…ders?” Fenris breathed.

Anders nodded and let out a relieved breath. “Yes. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Fenris’ head tipped to the side, and his gaze returned to somewhere beyond Anders’ eyes. His lips moved, forming a silent “No.” Anders couldn’t help himself. He flinched and his lids squeezed shut. Any second now, he’d be blown to tiny pieces with the unknown force of Fenris’ warped magic.

No blow came, nor any other form of attack. Anders blinked his eyes open and was struck by how dark it was. Fenris’ brightly glowing lyrium brands were nowhere to be seen, nor was the body they claimed home.

Behind him came the sound of wood striking the packed part floor. Anders turned to look over his shoulder in time to catch Fenris limping toward the doorway, now free of the arrow. Blood flowed freely from the would, already leaving a slick red trail over his leather armor.

He desperately wanted to call out, demand Fenris stop and return so Anders could heal him, but he was a coward. Anders would not risk drawing the ire of the unhinged elf, not when Hawke was at risk too. Left unattended, the elf was likely to bleed out or succumb to infection. Weighed between them, Anders found he could lot leave Hawke to suffer and die, and perhaps risk his own death, so that he could make another attempt to get through to Fenris.

Instead, he drew in a shaky breath and turned his trembling hands back to Hawke’s mangled torso. There was work enough to do here.

While he worked, tears came unbidden to his eyes. He tried to tell himself that Fenris had brought this on himself for treating mages the way he did, but the guilt of that night never left him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on my writing Tumblr at [aurenfaiewrites](http://aurenfaiewrites.tumblr.com/), or at my personal Tumblr [here](http://realvsable.tumblr.com/).


End file.
